License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel) (16 page)

“It still haunts you? I’m sorry.” Her touch trailed down his cheek to his jaw until she realized what she was doing and retracted her hand as if scorched. In the old days, she’d have held him in her arms, cooed to him, told him funny stories to put the dream in perspective. Not now.

Her lips were inches away from his, so close he could feel her breath as she spoke.

“And that wasn’t the third degree,” she said as if she was trying to create a diversion and take his attention away from the intimate way she’d just touched him. “A simple question isn’t the third degree.”

“Is that right? You mean I could have fired a few more at you?” Like why she was fighting what was between them.

She was so near it wouldn’t take much to close the gap between them and he was tempted. Tempted to the point of frustration.

She shook her head and smiled. “Don’t tease, Rock. The third degree is a spy term for a particular kind of interrogation and you know it.”

“Is it?” He inched closer until their arms brushed. “Maybe you should teach it to me.”

She laughed softly. “You want me to give you the third degree? You really think you can withstand my methods? If I torture you, you’ll be at my mercy.”

Maybe that’s what he wanted, a little sweet torture. “Who says I’m going to be the victim?”

Her breathing became shallow and, even though the lighting was dim, he thought her eyes dilated even more. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“Then tell me,” he said.

“You shine a very bright light in the subject’s eyes as you question them. I’m very good with a light.”

“I’m sure you are,” Rock said.

She was good with a lot of things.

“But I’m a pro, too,” he said. “I face bright, hot lights on stage during every act. I know how to handle myself around them. Lights don’t sound like torture to me.”

“They are if they’re used properly.” She held his gaze and damn if he didn’t see desire flicker there.

“Anything can be torture if applied with the right technique.” Like being so near her again and not touching her. Flirting like they used to.

Her lips moved a fraction of an inch closer to his. “I can teach you the proper technique.”

He curled his fingers around her wrist. “As long as I get to be the interrogator.” He shifted his weight on the bed as he put his arm around her. The gun slid into him. He picked it up. “It’s a good thing we don’t have children. This would scare the hell out of them. A simple glass of water is usually considered the best remedy for a bad dream.”

Lani froze and a look passed over her face so quickly the average person would have missed it. But not Rock.
She feels guilty about something. The mention of children upsets her.

As maybe it should have since the odds of them having any now were about nil.

“You’re right.” She took the gun from him and, without breaking eye contact, set it on the table next to the sofa bed. “But this isn’t your average situation. You’ve already had one attempt on your life and there’s a dangerous terrorist cell that wants you dead. Extra precaution seems warranted.”

She was covering. Expertly. But still covering.

“Dreams of drowning aren’t really about drowning,” she said. “They usually mean you feel your life is out of control or your problems are figuratively drowning you.” She traced a pattern on his arm and his breath caught. “I’m sorry, Rock. I am. You have to believe me—I didn’t want to come back and disrupt your life—”

He cupped her face. “I’m pretty sure this one is a memory from the time I really did almost drown.”

She continued to hold his gaze. “Yes, you told me about that. But not the details.”

And he wasn’t about to start now and give away that he owed Sol his life. “I never talk about the details. They aren’t important.” He cradled the back of her head, put an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her.

*   *   *

There wasn’t much harm in a kiss, was there? As the saying goes, a kiss is just a kiss. Lani had played femme fatale and used her charms to get intel throughout her spy career. She’d started that way with Rock in the beginning of the Hoover Dam caper. Before she’d lost her professional control and fallen in love with him.

She walked a thin line. String him along just enough to get him to trust her again and keep him cooperative, but not get so close that he’d guess the secret she was keeping from him. And damn, how did she keep a son a secret from one of the world’s best mentalists? Neither RIOT nor Rock knew about Stone. She couldn’t risk her baby’s safety by letting Rock find out he had a son. Both he and Stone would be at risk, and the country as well.

Being this intimately close to Rock was a supreme test of her spy capabilities. In the past, in a situation like this, she locked up her heart and concentrated on the lust, the animalistic physical pleasure. The private, vulnerable Lani was far away. The spy Lani was in control. To the spy, the man didn’t matter except as a means to an orgasmic end and the intelligence she wanted. But Rock had never let her get away with resorting to impersonal animal instincts. Only he had ever penetrated her soul.

Rock slid her nightgown off her shoulder, exposing her breast fully.

“So you think you know me well enough for this now?” she whispered. “Even after seeing me with Tate?”

“Especially after seeing you with Tate.” He sucked her breast until she gasped and threw her head back.

No emotions, just lust.
She repeated the mantra as if it were a magical spell that could protect her heart from Rock’s sensual assault. As if he wasn’t the man she’d loved enough to inadvertently marry. As if the bonds of creating a baby together didn’t exist. As if he wasn’t the father of the baby she’d die to protect.

He laid her back on the bed. Trailed kisses down her neck as she ran her fingers through his hair.
Still in control. Just lust.

He pressed himself between her legs until she wanted to release him from the confines of his boxers and slide him into her.

Rock conveniently wore very little to bed—a pair of tight boxer briefs that showcased his erection straining to get free and nothing else. No inconvenient shirt to remove. Nothing to hastily pull over his head and toss aside while she couldn’t wait to get at him. Just his hard, tattooed chest to stroke and caress, lit by the strobe of colorful neon lights filtering in through the window making him appear as if he really were enchanted. His shoulder to gently bite and nibble until he groaned.

Very much in control
, she thought.

She traced her finger around his nipple until it budded. But as she reached up to lick and taste his wonderfully hard pecs, she stopped short. Hidden in the complicated tapestry that covered his chest, just over his heart, was a new tattoo, an intricate web of words.

She ran her fingers through his hair, hoping he wouldn’t notice as she read the inscription.

Lani in omne tempus.

The words spiraled into a cleverly subtle heart shape, so understated it was almost as if it was trying to fool the viewer. An optical illusion. One of Rock’s magic tricks, the secret of the trick hidden in plain view. It was woven into the pattern of dragons and magic lore already in action across his toned frame.

Lani’s Latin was rusty to nonexistent, but these words were an inside joke between them. Rock’s was a playful jest at adolescent girls and yet full of meaning at the same time—
Lani until all time.
In the immortal words of mooning girls everywhere—
Lani forever.

And the spiral heart? The heart was obvious enough. The spiral was a symbol of magic and energy.

Her spy resolve cracked, simply shattered. The real Lani broke through—

“Halt or I’ll shoot!” With a perfect sense of timing, Tate stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in the fluffy, white, terry, hotel bathrobe, holding a gun on them and wearing an expression very much like a father who’d just discovered his daughter caught in flagrante delicto.

Lani slid from beneath Rock, made herself decent, and grabbed her gun. Next to her Rock had managed to pull his boxers up. He looked stunned, frustrated, and highly pissed at Tate. No doubt if he’d been capable of real magic, he’d have disappeared Tate for good.

“Sorry. My mistake.” Tate grinned, but he was smart enough not to drop the gun. “I heard a noise and came to the rescue. RIOT assassins can be such pesky creatures. Tenacious, too. And capable of scaling tall buildings and cutting through penthouse windows.”

“It took you long enough. Rock called out in his sleep ten minutes ago,” Lani said. “We could have both been killed in the time I’ve been down here.”

“I can see that.” Tate slipped his hand into his pocket and smirked.

Lani frowned at Tate. Sometimes he could be a real ass. “Rock had a bad dream. I came down to see if he was okay.”

“And I see you were just about to give him something to make him sleep soundly again.” Tate winked.

She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he was implying—a good screw and a mind-blowing climax were the most effective soporifics around.

“Now that everything’s all locked up nice and tight and everyone’s safely tucked in, I can turn back in.” Tate rested his hand on the light switch.

“Hold on!” Lani said. “I’m coming up, too.” The mood was ruined and she was regaining to her senses.

“Lani—”

Lani aimed her palm at Rock to stop him from protesting, and turned and stormed up the stairs.

“Next time try a glass of warm milk,” Tate said to no one in particular and laughed to himself.

At the top of the stairs, Lani brushed past him.

“Don’t glare at me,” Tate whispered to her. “You asked me to have your back and save you from yourself. I gave you plenty of time to back off.”

He smiled. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

CHAPTER NINE

Lani is different
, Rock thought as he sat across the breakfast table from Tate and Lani, studying her and listening to Tate as they ate scrambled eggs.
Softer
. Something had dulled her hard, tough edge. He hadn’t noticed it until last night in bed. The way she’d come to him and comforted him. The way she’d dropped her guard and almost let him make love to her. As if she needed him. If only Tate hadn’t interrupted …

Rock liked the new softness. And at the same time, he didn’t. Whatever had changed her had made her less impenetrable, vulnerable, even if only slightly. Vulnerability couldn’t be good for a spy. Isn’t that why Bond’s true love interests always had to die?

Lani was dressed for breakfast in the big, white, cotton hotel robe. Even as bundled up as she was, Rock couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Now that we’ve vanquished one small head of the Hydra that’s RIOT, it’s time to get down to the business of Outlandish Marauders,” Tate said.

“It’s just too bad Bancroft apparently doesn’t know anything about it,” Lani said. “At least not that our friends at the Bureau could find out overnight.”

Tate shrugged. “They should have let us have Bancroft.” He winked. “Nothing we can do for now. Back to our business. First things first. Talented young magicians, I hear you need some.”

Rock perked up and looked at Tate. “Yeah. I have a list of the kinds of talents I need.”

“I know.” Tate grinned. “And I have a group of candidates lined up to audition for you.”

“You know a lot about magicians?” Rock said.

“Lani helped screen them.”

Just as Nelson had said, this plan had obviously been in the works a while. Rock turned his gaze on Lani again.

She gently shrugged. “I know what you look for in your onstage help.”

“You mean like loyalty?” Rock helped himself to a plate of eggs.

Lani fired back. “I’m loyal, to the right people.”

Rock ignored her. “What time do auditions start? Do I have time for a cup of coffee with my eggs?”

“Tonight,” Tate said.

“Tonight?”

“Eager?” Tate took a sip of coffee.

“Yeah, we need every minute of rehearsal time we can get. We’ve already wasted a day. In the meantime, we’ll have to go over my equipment needs, check into rehearsal space—”

“Not so fast.” Tate set down his fork. “You won’t find the kind of talent we need in Vegas. This requires a road trip to Los Angeles.”

“Okay.” Rock shrugged. The CIA was impossible to fight. He had to trust they’d allowed him enough time to get the illusion into shape. “Are we taking your plane?”

“Plane? What part of road trip don’t you understand?” Tate said. “We’ll get to LA just as fast, and have a hell of a lot more fun driving. With the added bonus of not having to drag out my corporate pilot and file a highly traceable flight plan.”

“You mean if
you’re
driving, don’t you, Tate?” Lani spoke to Rock. “Tate loves driving. Fast.”

Tate grinned. “I don’t drive fast. I just fly low. We’ll leave after breakfast.”

“I’d better go put my face on then.” Lani pushed back from the table.

For most women, that was a figure of speech. But Lani was literally going to put another face on and become another woman.

“All right, Gillian, baby,” Tate said. “But don’t take too long.”

“She’s going to be Gillian again today?” Rock didn’t think he could stomach another day of Tate and Lani falling all over each other.

“I can’t very well parade around as myself,” Lani said. “Besides, I was seen going into Tate’s hotel room last night with the two of you. Think of the rumors that will be flying!” She winked and pushed back from the table.

“Good point. You can show me a little public affection today, too,” Rock said.

“Sorry, but regardless of the rumors, Gillian’s a one-man undercover woman.” She laughed and shook her head before disappearing upstairs.

“You’re never going to win Lani back by being that way,” Tate said after Lani left. He was still sitting at the table finishing the last of his coffee. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Tate said when Rock didn’t reply. He was grinning. “What else could there be in it for you?”

“The thrill. Duty to my country. The cash. Getting to perform the illusion of a lifetime. Should I go on?” Rock said.